


(More Than) Company

by GwynDuLac



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M, The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwynDuLac/pseuds/GwynDuLac
Summary: “So what can I do for you: coffee, whiskey, or sex?”M scowled, somewhat embarrassed not that he was that transparent or predictable, but that those were the things he came to Bond for.Except there are so many other reasons that M comes to Bond, and so many other things that he'd like to be getting out of this arrangement. Luckily for him, Bond feels the same - if only they can manage to talk about it.
Relationships: James Bond/M | Gareth Mallory
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43





	(More Than) Company

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [(не только) приятная компания](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29003004) by [Kaellig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaellig/pseuds/Kaellig)



> Or as my beta put it "Idiot elder gays haven't learned to communicate, became spies to cope, can't function in normal society. More at 5."
> 
> Just Bond and M managing to go from a casual we-fuck-when-we're-stressed thing to a this-might-be-a-serious-relationship thing. With sex in the middle.

“That bad of a week, huh?”

M felt like he should probably be offended by how easily Bond could read him. But, well, Bond  _ was  _ an accomplished spy, and there was only ever one reason why M turned up at Bond’s flat at seven am on a Saturday. Given that it was indeed seven am on a Saturday and a week that Bond was on enforced leave M considered himself lucky that Bond had opened the door at all.

“Yes,” said M flatly, hoping the tone and facial expression thoroughly conveyed that he was not in the mood for any of Bond’s games. Or any of Bond’s snark. 

Bond stepped back and gestured him inside, asking as he did, “So what can I do for you: coffee, whiskey, or sex?” 

M scowled, somewhat embarrassed not that he was that transparent or predictable, but that those were the things he came to Bond for. Caffeine or alcohol or sex. And the company that came hand in hand, but he doubted Bond wanted to know that. M delayed responding by hanging up his coat and toeing off his shoes. Finally, he answered truthfully, “Sex and coffee, preferably in that order.”

Bond shrugged and smiled very faintly, unperturbed and perhaps a bit amused, and led the way to the bedroom. M followed, watching the way Bond’s body moved - he  _ prowled  _ even here in his own flat wearing nothing but loose sweatpants and an old Navy t-shirt about two sizes two big. 

****

Although this was not how Bond had planned to spend his morning, he certainly wasn’t about to complain. He enjoyed Mallory’s company - and the sex was without reproach. To Bond, sex was usually a weapon to be weilded like any other. It was nice to be able to actually enjoy it with someone he trusted. 

“So,” said Bond, turning to Mallory as they paused by the bed and reaching for the buttons of Mallory’s dress shirt, “How do you want to do this?” 

The second time they had fallen into bed together, Bond had tried to turn his charm on Mallory, and Mallory had told him in no uncertain terms to knock it off. Ever since Bond had kept the tone of their arrangement as perfunctory as seemed reasonable. If that was what M wanted out of this, Bond could give it to him. 

Mallory pushed Bond’s hands away gently, shifting his own grip to Bond’s waist, then his hips, leaning in to put his mouth close to Bond’s ear. For a moment he didn’t speak, just  _ breathed _ and Bond could feel Mallory fighting with himself, wrestling desire and the tension of the week and perhaps with the violent instinct he was sure still lurked under M’s skin from his own time in the field. He was so controlled all the time, but he didn’t have to be when he was here, with Bond. Finally, Mallory breathed out, nosed at Bond’s temple, and said roughly, “I want to fuck you.” 

Bond had known that was coming, but it still sent an unexpected thrill through him. “Sounds good to me,” he murmured, a little bit of truth slipping out. Since Mallory was still holding him close, Bond went back to the buttons on Mallory’s shirt, then moved on to his belt. (The part of his brain that was always in agent mode assessed that M had come straight from the office, probably after being up most of the night.) 

Mallory pushed his hands away again, stepping back a little and shrugging out of his shirt. Bond stripped his own over his head, tossing it onto the trunk at the end of the bed, atop a sweatshirt he’d been wearing the day before. While Mallory finished undressing, turning away to hang his things on a convenient chair on the other side of the room, Bond’s sweatpants joined the tshirt and he stretched out in the middle of the bed, face down. The vulnerable position should have made his skin crawl, but with Mallory around it didn’t. 

****

Mallory turned back to the bed and found Bond already naked and waiting, hands folded under his cheek as he watched Mallory. With the curtains closed and only the bedside light on, Bond’s skin was cast in a soft golden hue. Mallory could only hope that the lighting was as flattering on him. He tried to stay fit, but of course he would never compare to a double-oh agent ten years younger than him. 

Mallory very rarely indulged himself in any way, but here he did so just for a moment, first by simply  _ looking _ and then by running his fingers down Bond’s spine. It earned him a delighted (and delightful) hum that rumbled through Bond’s chest. Mallory smoothed his hand across Bond’s shoulders, then leaned down and kissed one of the scars there - one from a knife, he thought, though he wasn’t entirely sure. It pre-dated his time at Six. 

They had done this enough times by now that Mallory didn’t have to be told that he would find condoms and lube - and other things - in the nightstand drawer. They’d never tried any of those other things when Mallory came over; he was inevitably too impatient, and too wary of wearing out his welcome. This time as before Mallory stuck to the basics: coated his fingers with lube; worked them into Bond’s relaxed, willing body; rolled on a condom. 

At first he set a brutal pace, taking out the frustrations of the week, chasing not just a sexual release but relief from the tight ball of tension that sat heavy in his chest. He was using Bond and he knew, he felt guilty for it. But far from complaining, Bond egged Mallory on - not just in the moment with little noises of pleasure, but in general with the open invitation for this arrangement to continue. Mallory had no idea what Bond got out of it besides a decent fuck, and he didn’t want to examine it too closely. 

Suddenly, Mallory found that he desperately wanted to see Bond’s face, to pretend for a moment that this was more than just a casual fuck, more than Bond humoring him for some reason. He sat back, and Bond actually  _ whined  _ low in his throat, a sound of protest and desperation that Mallory would never have expected to hear Bond make. Mallory’s breath caught in his throat, but he managed to rasp, “Roll over.” Bond did. No hesitation. The  _ one  _ time Bond decided to follow his orders. Christ.

****

“Roll over.” 

Bond bit back a sound that he would never admit to wanting to make - double-oh agents didn’t  _ whimper _ \- and did as M instructed. He planted his feet on the bed, keeping Mallory bracketed between his knees, and looked up at the other man. He was surprised to see desperation rather than lust written across Mallory’s face. On an impulse, Bond surged up and kissed him. They hadn’t done that before, though Bond certainly had wanted to. 

He pulled back slightly, intending to ask Mallory if this was alright, but the other man grabbed his head and chased the kiss. It stirred something in Bond’s chest and he responded in kind, applying his extensive experience since it seemed that Mallory had little of his own. Bond slowed down the kiss, stroking his hands down Mallory’s sides until Mallory broke away with a gasp. His head came forward to rest against Bond’s shoulder and Bond held him there for a moment. When his back began to protest a bit at the angle - and he was sure Mallory’s knees must be hurting - Bond laid down carefully, guiding Mallory with him. 

They were both still hard, and it wasn’t long before Mallory was kissing along Bond’s collarbone, slotting their bodies back together. Except this time they could see each other, and this time Bond could  _ touch _ , which he proceeded to do with abandon. 

Afterward, they laid beside each other on the bed in silence. It was - almost - a comfortable silence. Bond forced himself up first, bringing a damp cloth to Mallory before taking himself off to shower quickly. 

****

Mallory felt wrung out. Which, to be fair, had been his intent in coming here; he just hadn’t expected to be quite  _ this  _ wrung out, or in this  _ way _ . Fortunately, Bond didn’t seem to expect conversation, and after they had both cleaned up Bond made coffee and gently pushed Mallory down onto the couch to drink it. They sat beside each other, and Bond made sure they were pressed together from shoulder to knee. He turned a basketball game from America on the television with the volume down low, just enough background noise that the continued lack of conversation didn’t feel strange. 

“I can make breakfast if you like,” Bond offered after a while.

“Not- not yet. In a bit maybe.” Mallory desperately didn’t want Bond to move yet, wanted to just exist in this moment for a while, basking in the comfort of another presence. He risked a glance Bond’s direction and found the agent regarding him closely with those unnerving blue eyes. 

“You know,” said Bond slowly and seriously, “If it’s company you're interested in you just have to say so. The sex isn’t a prerequisite.”

“If you don’t want-”

“Oh I  _ enjoy  _ it,” Bond assured him, mercilessly cutting off Mallory’s frantic backtracking, “There are damn few people who I trust enough to actually enjoy having sex with and you’re high on that list. Maybe at the top of it.”

That brought Mallory up short and he blinked at Bond dumbly for a moment. “So that’s what you’ve been getting out of this,” he managed finally. 

Bond scowled. “You didn’t listen to a thing I just said, did you? I like your  _ company _ , Gareth. And if it’s company you want but you think the sex is necessary to have my company then I’ve been taking advantage of you-”

That startled a laugh out of Mallory. At Bond’s pointedly raised eyebrow he explained, “I was thinking something similar earlier. About taking advantage.  _ Using _ ...this.”  _ Using you _ he thought, but couldn’t quite bring himself to say out loud.

Mallory watched Bond briefly consider a snarky response, but then he sighed and asked seriously, “Because you’re my boss?”

“I- no? Not...not really.” 

That seemed to amuse Bond all over again, and Mallory supposed that it was a bit nonsensical. Being Bond’s boss should probably have been his primary hangup about this situation, yet it wasn’t. Bond shook his head a little. “Gareth, I am legitimately one of the most dangerous people in the world. I am also more than comfortable putting my foot down, as you well know.” Indeed, they’d had several shouting arguments in Mallory’s office when he had  _ put his foot down _ at work. “If I didn’t want this to be happening, it wouldn’t be.”

“No of course,” agreed Mallory, looking down into his coffee cup, wishing it could give him the right answers - or perhaps swallow him whole so that he could avoid this conversation entirely. He could feel Bond still watching him; he had turned slightly sideways on the couch, one knee pressing into Mallory’s thigh, one arm draped across the back of the couch  _ almost  _ touching Mallory’s shoulders.

“So what  _ do  _ you want?” asked Bond finally. Oh God that was a conversation Mallory wanted to deal with even  _ less  _ than the one they’d been having. “You’ve always been honest with me; it’s part of why I trust you.”

Well. Damn. 

“I want...this,” said Mallory slowly, gaze still fixed on his coffee. “Like you said: company. I...” he paused, laughed a little at his own awkwardness, and added, “The sex too. That has been uncommonly good.” 

“I’d like that too,” murmured Bond, his fingers finding the back of Mallory’s neck to brush over it lightly. “I’d also like to make you breakfast. Then, if you don’t object, how about we swing by your flat so you can pack a bag and then spend the rest of the weekend here?”

“I’d like that,” Mallory agreed honestly, finally looking up to meet Bond’s gaze. Those blue eyes were warmer and softer than he had ever seen them. Oh.  _ Oh _ .

****

Bond saw the moment that Mallory finally fully caught on, watched Mallory’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, a pleased expression briefly crossing his face. However, Mallory was smart enough not to address it aloud. Instead, he asked, “So, what now?”

“Whatever we like, I suppose,” answered Bond with a smile that for once held nothing but genuine  contentment .

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to [WeCouldPretend ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldPretend/pseuds/WeCouldPretend) for beta and encouragement and _dozens_ of comments on the draft.


End file.
